Thought You Might Call
by Monsieur Prongs
Summary: A glimpse, just a teensy glimpse into Jim Moriarty's life. Past and Present. Mostly one shot drabbles. On your own time then. Why? Because that's what people DO! T for violence, and language
1. A Glimpse

_Jim_

Cold.

You have to learn to be cold.

In my position you can't afford to be anything _but_ cold. If you're warm you let things slide. Important things, that at first seem harmless, but they always come back to bite you in the arse. Being cold is the only way to avoid future problems and to gain respect. Being cold allows you to come out on top because you take chances. Chances that normal people wouldn't take. Because they aren't cold. And if you aren't cold, you care. You start to worry, you start to care about the people you hurt, and the things you do to them. In a place like this, worrying, crying, caring gets you nowhere. Being cold on the other hand allows you to be more free. It allows you to move about more, without worrying about what you're treading on.

Being cold lets you play.

When it's a war between you and Sherlock Holmes, being cold is the only way to win.

He pretends.

He pretends to be cold.

When you fake being cold, someone can always get to you. It's better to be by yourself, to actually strip your emotions away as best you can. I clench my fists impatiently. Obviously there are some you can't remove fully.

This has gone totally awry. I, as much as I hate to admit it, can't fix it by myself. Only one man can help me fix it.

"SEBASTIAN!" I holler over my shoulder and out the door. My voice echoes down the hall and comes back toward me. Frowning I take a step back from the monitor. Where the hell could he be? I need him now. "Sebastian?" I ask empty air. No answer. My den is quiet, my lair empty except for me. As it should be. "Tch." I aim a kick at the desk. I guess I'll just have to fix it myself.

Grumbling, I look toward the monitor again, watching the moves that could ruin the whole operation. It takes skill to set something like this up, but even more skill to screw it over. No one screws with me. _No one_. No one messes with Jim Moriarty. I glance at the monitor again. I know just how to fix this. I take every precaution known to man. I'm careful. If things get off, I fix them. Sighing, I reach for my phone and quickly hold the three down. The man in the monitor picks up his phone, glances at the caller id and turns pale. He looks toward the camera and back at his phone before answering it.

"Yes?" His voice is shaky. Good. He's scared.

"Um. Yes. Hello. You're boss speaking. Aren't you supposed to be doing something?" The man pales more, if it were even possible.

"W-well. Y-yo-yousee. Um. We-wellyousee. But. Um-."

"Shut up and do what you're supposed to. Or I might have to get your family and have them ripped to shreds in front of your eyes, which may or may not be attached to your body by that point. I think you underestimate the extent of my domain sir. Try anything else and I will be forced to remove you." I pause for effect, "_Personally._"

The man swallows hard, "Yes sir. I understand sir."

"Good." I hang the phone up. "Took you long enough." I say without turning around. The shadow blocking the door doesn't say anything. "Well obviously I don't need your help anymore. Go back to whatever you were doing before which almost certainly isn't as fun as this." The shadow departs leaving me alone again.

Alone.

That's always how I seem to end up. Whether I want it to or not actually. Though I suppose it's better this way. Being alone. If I weren't, I probably wouldn't be so cold. So cold, all the time. Any doctor would tell you it's a bad thing, but honestly, I feel it's the cure for most anything the world could throw at you.

And it always has been.

And that won't change.

Ever.

I wonder how long it's going to take the rest of the world to figure it out.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: This is a Jim Moriarty collection, as specified in the summary. I thought it'd be interesting to explore Jim's character.<em>

_Mischief Managed_

_-P_


	2. Chess Part 1

I prop my feet up on the desk and lean back in my chair, a smile slowly creeping across my face. Everything is going perfectly. People are so predictable. That's why it pays to be spontaneous. It pays to be changeable. It's a good trade mark to have.

"Mr. Moriarty, we have a situation." The man at the door states nervously. I look up from my hands and glance at the door.

"A situation?" I question smoothly.

"Aye sir." He pauses before continuing, "One of the contractors has gone missing."

"Missing?"

"We assume the police got him, but we aren't sure." I smile.

"Sherlock Holmes." I murmur under my breath.

"Sir?"

"Oh nothing." I smile again. Just as I thought. The man at the door trembles. I push my chair back and stand, turning to face the man at the door. "I'm just sorry for you." I say quietly, before starting to advance. The man starts to back into the dimly lit hallway. "I can't let my standards slip, not even for you." The man shakes his head and backs straight into a wall. He's taller than me, most of my henchmen are. Even John Watson is taller than me. I tilt the man's chin so that he can see me clearly.

"P-P-P-" He stutters, trying to plead with me. I know I have him now. I smile and he flinches.

"Thank you for telling me Dave, you know I appreciate knowing the comings and goings of my henchmen." I back into my study and close the door smiling, thinking of the face Dave is now pulling. So predictable. I fling myself back into my chair and swivel around to face my desk, moving one of the chess pieces, a pawn forward, while moving the black pawn to take it. I discard the pawn, and sit back to contemplate white's next move. _My _next move. I sift through the useless email that I've received, searching for one that starts properly, the word 'dear'. I'm just so bored now. So bored. My plans cannot move forward without another mess for me to clean up. Another meaningless death.

Although it isn't meaningless.

It's art.

What I do is art. Something to look at, something to be admired. Sadly it doesn't get the appreciation it deserves. My art is rejected and treated as slander. Criminal? Hah. Justice. I shake my head, a faint smile tickling the sides of my mouth. Ah yes.

Art.

I tighten my shoe laces and leave the study, laughing to see Dave still standing stunned against the wall.

Stupid pawn.

I don't know what I'm going to do next. Lie in wait until Sherlock makes his next move. Without a doubt he'll try to strike me. I've left myself open and teasingly close, he has to try and take my king.

This is a game of chess, and I'm the player.

I don't need anyone on my side. All I need are my pawns, and even then…. Even if the last piece I have to control is the king, even if all the bodies of the expired pawns lay before my feet, I will still play. If I am the last player, the king the last piece under my control, I will play. A dangerous game that I mustn't lose. Too much is at stake. And then again.

Too.

Little.

Sometimes I feel as if I'm playing just to play, as if I'm just toying with Sherlock to see him dance. As if I don't have a purpose. And sometimes I _know_ I don't have a purpose. And it causes me to pause.

I play for the sake of the game.

I play because it's the only way to feel alive.

I play for Sherlock.

I play for me.

And I play for London.

Two players, playing for the same thing. One, black, wants London for himself. And the other, white, wants London for the sake of London. One can win, the other _has _to lose. It cannot be me. I cannot afford to lose to Sherlock Holmes.

My phone dings just as I push out the door into the night air. The smelly, polluted night air of London. It's a beautiful sight, but I've grown weary of it. I pull my phone out and take a look at the new message.

_Close_

_SM_

Ah. Good. This game is just about to get interesting. I waltz down the fire escape as a car pulls into the garage, coming to a stop.

"Thank you ever so much Seb. I owe you for this." I say into the window, knowing he can hear me, before opening the back door and peering in to see my prize. Another smile creeps across my face. One of satisfaction. "Oh Sebastian, you are good." I praise before pulling the unconscious Doctor John Watson from the back of the car. I smile again.

I win this round. Sherlock Holmes.

John is starting to struggle and I nod toward the car. Sebastian knows exactly what to do. The car pulls out of the garage and disappears around the corner. I drag John unceremoniously toward the prearrange chair and toss him into it, stripping away the piece of duct tape that binds his mouth. John wakes with a start.

Let the games begin.

John looks up at me with a confused face, and immediately backs up after seeing it's me. I smile.

"Oh good, you're awake. I thought Sebastian had killed you for a moment." I lie, running a thumb over John's cheek. Let him think he was in danger.

"What the hell Jim?" He asks, trying to slap at my hand. He can hardly do anything.

"I'd let you just walk out of here, but you can barely move, so I wouldn't try it. You wouldn't get far." He glances down at his bound wrists and ankles.

"What do you want Jim?" He asks angrily, after assessing the situation.

"To play. Sherlock's been a bit slower than usual. And normally, I wouldn't mind that because I did tell him to back off, but when I dangle a piece of meat in front of his face, and he refuses to take it, well then we have a problem Doctor Watson." He says nothing. "Tch." He glances at me before looking over my shoulder, as if expecting to see Sherlock to come and save him. "Oh, Sherlock will never find you. He probably won't even know that you're missing for a while yet."

"That fast Jim?"

"Oh hi Dave!" I exclaim, turning to see Dave walk into the garage, black hair falling into his face. He looks murderous.

"That fast Mr. Moriarty? You were that fast. I don't believe you." I laugh aloud for a second before turning to John,

"Sorry John, unfinished business with Dave. Do excuse me." I run my fingers over his cheek as he pulls away again before facing Dave.

"How were you that fast?" He demands, throwing his phone at me. I suppose it was probably supposed to hit me, like a projectile, but I simply snatched it out of the air and gazed at the message.

_Dave Sanders,_

_Your family has been found dead._

"Tch."

"That's all you have to say?"

"All I have to say Dave, is that you shouldn't have gotten in my way."

"_Your _way?"

"My way Dave. My way. I'm just trying to prove a point here Dave. No one ever gets to me. And no one ever will." Dave stares at me.

"How did you-"

"I make it a point," I pause before saying his name, "_Dave_, to find out everything I can about a person before I make them mine. And I found out everything Dave." I start to walk towards him, shoving my hands in my pockets. "Dave." He looks livid, and frightened at the same time. I touch his small nose with one finger and smile. "You've done it now Dave."

"But-"

"Ah ah ah! Dave." He swallows and backs out the door. He does a lot of that. Backing. I can tell he's expecting mercy again. I reach out and shove him, pushing him onto the pavement. He screams and crawls along backwards. I continue. A plan, yes. I always have one.

"P-Pl-PLEASE!" I continue at my same speed, and he stands up, running backwards now, I smile. Dangerously. He knows he's got a problem when he sees my face and has the audacity to glance over his shoulder.

"Yes, Dave. I believe the words are, 'You're fired' but that's just so… mundane. A different kind of termination. I believe you'll find that there are tiny weights in nearly all of your pockets, sewn in over a period of five month, to the point you didn't notice them. And that's the Thames behind you."

"Mr. Moriarty!"

"Ah. No, Dave. You were calling me Jim earlier. Be consistent or I might get confused." I reach out and push him into the Thames before smiling as he tries to swim. Weights. Nearly undetectable when wearing, but they are worth their weight in water and drag you down until you drown. Child's play. Mentally I turn the pawn I used for him white and then sink it. I turn on my heel and head back to John. "Now John. Where were we? Ah yes," I say, looking him in the eyes, "I was about to explain my plan to you. Although, You probably don't want to hear it." I reach into his pocket and pull out his phone, swiftly calling Sherlock's number. It rings twice.

"John, why are you-"

"John? Eh, no."

"Jim-"

"Shut up and listen Sherlock. It's time to do things my way."

"Your way-"

"Stop trying to sound smart. You found the evidence I presume."

"Yes."

"Good. Now listen…"


	3. Chess Part 2

"Good morning Doctor Watson. Feeling well I presume?" I ask with a false smile. John looks up and glares at me.

"What the hell Jim? Don't you think it's a bit… Much?" I chuckle softly,

"When you reach my position, anything less than extraordinary becomes too subtle." He scoffs. "Don't believe me? Hm." He rotates his neck and I smile. Oh, I'm having too much fun with this. "Oh I see."

"What?" He asks angrily.

"You're cross with me." I laugh aloud this time, that's funny! "You know John, I'm not going to kill you."

"Oh?" He sounds like he doesn't believe me.

"No no no! That would just break poor Sherlock. No. I need you alive if I ever want to get to him."

"Get to him?" I smile.

"Of course. Don't you know how to play this game?" I ask, a hit of sarcasm in my voice that he doesn't catch.

"It's not a game Moriarty, it's cold hearted murder."

"Tch." I pause for a minute to think about what I'm going to say and lower my voice accordingly. I put my face right next to his ear so he can hear me. "It's art, Doctor Watson. What I do is art. In their dying moments, people tell you who they really are. They show you. It takes skill to pull that out of them. It's art, John, and don't you _ever,_" I stress the word, "forget it." I step back to look at him, and shove my hands in my pockets. "Don't make people into hero's Doctor Watson. Hero's don't exist. In their core, every human being will do _anything_ to stay alive. To not die. I just bring it out. I expose it."

"ART? All you do is waste lives!" He's angry now, and I tsk again.

"Tch. Doctor Watson, I want you to pay close attention to me."

"You make people _DIE_ Mr. Moriarty!"

"Die? That's what people _DO_! Weren't you listening John?" I straighten my coat and face him again, "I just withdraw the chance for them to rise to their full potential. People would perceive me as being," I do air quotes, "evil, but if you look at it differently, that's not the case at all. I consider myself a saving grace. And you have to admit, the art, is simply…. Stunning." John freezes, looking at me coldly.

"Saving grace? Are you trying to be funny?" I offer a half smile before pacing again, 'round and 'round the chair I go.

"Hardly. If I were trying to be funny, you'd be laughing. I'm merely defending my position. Shall I attack your career choice. Doctor?" I ask, a bit of spite in my voice.

"Wha-"

"Doctoring them. Making them better? Is that what you think it is John? Death is a sweet release! And you pull them back, right before they manage to taste the sweetness of whatever comes after your heart stops beating. Isn't that cruel? Isn't what I do kinder? Don't try to act all high and mighty to me John Watson." I sniff, the coolness of the morning getting to me at last.

"You're crazy."

"I have been told that, but I've learned that in order to go _anywhere_ in this world, you have to be at least somewhat mad."

"It's not kinder." I look up and stop walking to look at the back of his head. Interesting.

"It isn't? And pulling them back from death is?"

"Most people don't want to die Mr. Moriarty." I smile and laugh softly. I see. Things just got interesting.

"From my experience, no one ever knows until they are approached with it, until they do die Doctor Watson, and then they realize they have always wanted to die." The sun just barely starts to peak over the horizon of the city, turning the clouds shades of pink and orange. My breath hangs in the air as I continue to circle him. "I have heard people _beg _me for death. Angel of Mercy."

"Mercy!" He scoffs. "Is that what you call it Jim?" I stop in front of him and look him in the eye, a smile spreading across my face,

"You called me Jim."

"Whatever the hell it is, it sure isn't mercy." I shrug, continuing to pace.

"That's debatable. Better to live in the light, rather than in ignorance. Wouldn't you say?"

"There's a saying, 'Ignorance is bliss.'" He quotes and I smile again. So predictable. You, Doctor Watson, are playing right into my hands. I just _knew _you would say that.

"At least until that ignorance is shattered, leaving a broken human being behind. You are all so fragile! You know this John, you work with them every day. The broken, the sick, the ailing, the dying." He glares at me and looks as if he's going to say something more, but the beeping of his phone in my pocket stops him. I smile and bend down to look him properly in the face. "I'd better be off, I've got Sherlock to finally come out and play, I'd better be prepared. In this game, one cannot afford to be caught off guard!" I tap him on the nose, much to his surprise and instant dislike. I smile before turning on my heel and leaving through the open door with a flourish. I slam the two doors together and head into the main part of the building before checking John's phone.

_Found: a small wooden spoon used for the murder of one, Elridge Turner._

_SH_

I smile. Good. He's getting the hang of it.

_Good boy. Now be a doll and clear up another mess for me._

I don't bother to sign the note. He knows it's me. I smile and whistle a tune as I place the phone back in my pocket. Luckily for me, Sherlock removes all tracking devices for both his, and John's portable devices. You'd think he'd at least leave the ones for the cell phones in, but I suppose he doesn't want Mycroft snooping, considering he's the one that put them there. Sherlock's frantic by now. I push the door to my study open and move another piece on the chess board.

Let the games begin.

And of course Sherlock has to play, he has no other options. I cannot afford to lose another piece in this game. I've worked far too hard for this. I need to win. Years of being shot down, forgotten, beaten, and I am not about to lose again. I touch my chest for a moment, sentiment mostly, feeling for the scars hidden by my t-shirt. Too much. I smile slightly before gazing at the board again. Game of chess. I'll be sure to win.

Reward.

Punishment.

Reward.

Punishment.

How to train your favorite pet. I smile again before leaving the study and calling for Sebastian on _my_ phone. Change in plans again. Unpredictable, changeable. No one ever expects the unexpected. Even if they say they do.

"I do hope you aren't afraid of heights Doctor Watson." I call cheerily before I actually enter the garage. He looks up from his chair and scowls.

"Come to make art out of me have you? Come to shatter my ignorance."

"Tch." I shake my head pleasantly, "When are you going to learn to let things go?" I ask before turning on my heel. "Seb will be in to knock you out presently, I've got some other things to attend to before we continue with our game." He looks at me loathingly, "Our little game of chess is just about to get interesting." I flash him a pleasant smile before taking my leave and strolling down the street.

It looks like it might rain.

I might need my umbrella.

I shove my hands in my jean's pockets and turn the corner, pulling out John's phone while I'm at it. Time to change it up a bit Sherlock. Hope you like surprises. Hell, who am I kidding, he doesn't like surprises, but that won't stop me from playing dirty.

_I'm soooo changeable._

_Sorry dear. _

_You have four hours to find him Sherlock,_

_Or he'll probably end up little more than a smudge on the pavement._

_;)_

I couldn't resist the emoticon. Let him think what he likes. When you reach my position, you hide behind an innumerable amount of masks. Mask after mask after mask veils your true face. No one ever gets to _me_ and no one ever will. Sebastian's car drives right past me, slowing down as a signal and then speeding away to find a suitable building. He'd text me when John's in position and I'll hurry on up to meet Sherlock and if he takes too long, I'll be the one to push the Doctor over the edge. Shoving John's phone back in my pocket I step up to the curb to hail a cab. Usually Sebastian would just drive me everywhere, but not today. Today, I'm a civilian. I dress like a normal person, I act like a normal person, I even smell like a normal person. Everyday it's something different. Today, I'm Jim. My phone buzzes and I tell the cabby the address, smile and sit back, waiting to arrive.

I climb the stairs.

Elevators give me a chance of being seen more than I want to be. People don't take the stairs. I throw open the door and a cold breeze blows through me. I'm a ghost. Until John sees me. His chair is missing and he dangles his legs over the edge of the building.

A cold rain begins to fall.

The first drop touches my nose and I look up, scowling at the rain.

John grips the edge of the building with his fingers, his knuckles are white, and he looks uncomfortable.

"Tch." I sit down next to him, the backs of my feet hitting against the side of the building. I don't say anything, I just look at John. And he looks at me. He looks mad, like he wants to say something, but he doesn't. I check the clock. Three and a half hours to go. Sighing I lay back, laying on the top of the building with my legs hanging over the edge. Never mind how open I am right now. John could just push me off and be done with it. But he doesn't. Why?

"He's not a cold blooded killer. Like me." John looks at me confused.

"What?" I look up. Had I said that out loud?

"Why are you up here Jim?" To that, I smile.

"In case Sherlock doesn't come." His face hardens and he refuses to look at me. Good. I put my hands behind my head and let the rain pepper my face. Oddly enough, it feels good.

"Sherlock came." The voice comes from behind us and I tilt my head to see Sherlock standing at the door. I reposition myself and continue to look at the angry clouds.

"Thought you might. How did you know it was this building?" I ask, curious. He doesn't say anything. Idiot. "I have your pet." I say loudly.

"He's not my pet Jim." I smile and sit up, one fluid motion mind, and swivel to look at him. I cross my legs and study him. He looks angry. Well of course he's angry.

"Hi." I say, offering a small wave. "Glad you could join us. This rain, is just… Splendid!" Sherlock frowns and steps forward. I don't move. This is a game of chess, I just have to wait for the right moment. He's testing me. I'm testing him. Casually I glance over my shoulder, seeing all the tiny cars, the small buildings and the ants running around the streets of London. Not my home. I smirk as Sherlock hauls John back from the edge.

"What are you playing at Jim?" he asks, studying me as he unties John's hands and ankles.

I just shake my head. "You wouldn't understand Sherlock." No one ever does. I stand up and Sherlock backs up, pulling John to his feet. I brush past them, grinning like a mad man, and head for the door. I pull it open and start to step inside before turning back and looking at them, "Check mate." I murmur before escaping down the stairs. I grin as I hear the door bang shut and hurried voices as Sherlock and John come up with a way to stop me. I practically slide down the stairs. I was _made _for this. Consulting criminal. I slide into Sebastian's car. "Thank you Sebastian. I can always count on you." I say with a smile, mentally moving my queen into check. When are you going to betray me to Sebastian Moran? If I've ever learned something, it's that everyone will betray you.

And in this game, I can afford no chances.

None at all.

I win this round, Sherlock Holmes.


	4. Late One Night

_Age_ 18

"That was years ago!" I cry in protest as two boys grab my arms and hold me against the wall.

"He was my best friend!" I scoff loudly,

"Then you need to get some new mates!" The leader smirks at me and pulls a pocket knife from the folds of his jacket, glinting in the light of the street lamp.

"Carl Powers. You killed him didn't you?" He asks, though he's not really asking. He takes a step toward me.

"No." My answer catches him off guard, "The water did." The man blinks for a moment. Clearly not very bright. My life is at stake and I'm only making it worse. Typical. I smile widely as he continues to advance, I don't even know his name.

"James Moriarty." He says in a low voice as he advances again. He places the tip of the knife under my chin and looks me in the eyes, "What are you? Freak. Murderer." Instead of shrinking, like he would have suspected, I scoff at him.

"Consulting criminal." He presses the knife into the soft skin under my chin, drawing a small amount of blood before slicing the front of my shirt open. The buttons of my shirt tumble to the pavement, bouncing off before settling. He glances toward the lamp post and motions to his cronies to drag me to a shadowed ally rather than one that is lit. The two men throw me up against the new wall and hold me down. The man in charge walks up to me, his face inches away from mine. And suddenly I'm worried. Suddenly it seems to sink in that I could die tonight. And I start to panic. Of course I don't show them that I'm panicking, but inside my mind is racing. While my eyes stare straight ahead, my mind has turned the picture of the ally in my head around and around, looking for a way to escape. And then it stops. As soon as it began, it's replaced with a desire to put an end to this. The cool metal against my chest causes my thoughts to stop their chaotic circles and focus on the blade.

"Consulting criminal?" In one movement he swipes the blade across my chest, I hold back a hiss as the stinging settles in. I look down to see red coming out of my skin. This isn't the first time I've seen blood. Nor my own. But it hardly looks like there is a wound at all. That's what surprises me. "How did that feel?" He asks mocking me, before swiping the knife across the wound in the other direction, making an 'x' shaped wound in the middle of my chest. At that I smile. Cliché. My I close my hands into fists, my nails biting into the palms of my hands while the slashing continues, more random now than before. I can feel my skin parting, I hope that doesn't scar. By the time he grows tired I'm grinning like an idiot.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" The man on my right arm questions loudly, dropping my arm. The other one follows in suit and I slump back on the wall, spent. Well, nearly spent.

"You're a freak!" The leader shouts at me, dropping the knife and backing away as I start to laugh. God it hurts my skin and chest, but it sounds proper. I look up at him and pull my shirt over my chest. Buttoning it at the top where the button had refused to be torn off.

"You got blood on my new shirt." I say before coming forward and scooping up the knife. I test the knife's edge on my thumb, slicing it open. With that I smile and chuckle again. And now I know what I have to do. The two men that had held my arms turn and try to run. "Um. No." I say loudly, causing them to pause. "Get back here." They don't move. Well, this is going to be more fun than I had originally thought.

The first man starts to run, and without even thinking I balance the knife in my hand and throw it with ease. It lodges itself in the man's back. Years of practice, and I've finally managed to perfect my aim. The other man screams and rushes to his friend's side. Nonchalantly, I waltz over and pull the knife out of his back, wiping it on my shirt.

"This is a good knife." I comment before slashing the first man across the face, causing him to fall backward, giving me access to his heart. Simple. Blood fills the back ally, more than there probably should have been, but that's including mine. The police will simply assume that I have been taken captive. I turn to the third man who's looking at me with a face of sheer horror. By God that feels fantastic. Being feared. I'm no longer underneath. I'm on top. Maybe I'll just have to burn the bodies, no evidence then. No blood, no DNA. I've always been good with pyrotechnics. Always carrying a book of matches. The third man doesn't run, doesn't turn away, doesn't even back up. "How did you know about Carl Powers?" I ask, needing an answer.

"We saw you tampering with his medicine." So I had been seen. Interesting. Not making that mistake again.

"And it's taken you _five_ years to do this?"

"Five years of planning."

"And clearly, you haven't planned very well. Tch. Five years. Five years of what? Larking about?" I ask vengefully, swiping at his arm with his own knife, cutting deep. This time he does back up, up against the wall.

"How do you do it James?" He asks, fear creeping into the edges of his voice.

"My name isn't James!" I hate that name. James reminds me of my past, the past which I have worked so hard to erase. "I'm called Jim! They call me Jim." With that I end his life. I close the pocket knife and stash it in my pocket before looking at my hands. I'm covered in blood. Most of it isn't mine. I don't like getting my hands dirty. "Tch." I wipe my hands on my pants and drag the two bodies over to the wall next to the third, collecting bits of grass and wasted newspaper to build a sort of pyre before striking a match and setting it alight. Covering my tracks. Luckily the first two bodies didn't leave much on the pavement, and it will easily be identified as theirs.

I'm good.

I can cover my tracks.

The smell of burning flesh wafts past my nose and I breathe it in. Not the most delightful smell, but it reminds me that I've accomplished something. Something great. I pull a cigarette from my pockets and light it before turning and walking away. Yes. I'm accomplished. I peel my shirt away from my chest to examine the damage as I turn down the street that my flat resides on. Luckily it's late at night and no one will be about. Yeah. That looks bad. It's more than likely going to scar. No doubt. At least they were clean.

Consulting criminal.

I like that.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Righto, that wasn't as graphic as I wanted to go, but I didn't want it to get too long, and I also don't want to scare people away. So! Do tell how you think about this, imaginary cookies to those who review. This is a lot of fun, and I hope to be able to do more things like this! Well… I better be off. Oh it was so nice to have a proper chat. Ciao!<em>

_Mischief Managed_

_-P_


	5. Residue

_Age: 17_

The dark, musty room, hangs limply around my shoulders as colourful bits of light dance in front of my face. Slumping against the wall I reach out to touch the beams of light, my fingers slipping right through them and my arm hits the dusty floor again. I let out a moan. Usually this would be fine. Usually it wouldn't hurt. It hurts today. It hurts to try and stop. Using. The cool basement air does nothing but cause me to shiver, freezing the sweat on my pale skin. God it hurts. My head lolls to the side and I close my eyes, not wanting to see the product of residue drugs in my system. One day, and it hurts like hell. I'm too weak to do anything, and I can barely move. For Christ's sake, why did I ever decide to go on a binge and then quit? What is wrong with me? My thoughts dart in and out of sanity, leaving me wondering if I am ever going to be okay. I- The door to the basement opens, sending a wave of florescent light my way. I cringe against the sudden brightness and shrink against the wall. Shit. A muffled,

"James." Comes from the top of the stairs and I hear my brother walking down them to me. A tsk of disapproval, "What the hell have you done James?" He yanks me up by my arms and throws me over his shoulder, and carries me up the stairs, bringing me fully into the light. I mumble in distinctly, trying to communicate my pain and distress, but failing to make any sense. "What?" He asks gently, care seeping into his voice. My brain rushes and I whimper again. Why does it hurt so much. "James?" He asks worriedly. My throat hurts but I feel I have to shoot him down.

"Do- Don't pretend like you care." I relax again and my head rests against his back. I stare at the floor as he continues to carry me to my room. He tries my door, but it's locked and suddenly, I don't want to go in my room anymore. I start to struggle frantically, vocalization coming quicker than it did several minutes ago, "Don't put me in there! Don't! I'll relapse!" He puts me down and leans me against the wall,

"Where's the key James?" I blink slowly.

"My room is infested with drugs. I'm not going in there. I-," I falter, "I don't want to…" He nods before picking me up again.

"If you tell me where the key is, I'll take care of everything." He opens the door to his room before setting me down on his bed. There are several minutes of silence while he looks at me expectantly.

"It's in the mailbox outside." He nods and leaves me by myself to look at the ceiling, and to hurt. I grip his bedclothes as a wave a nausea hits me. My eyes roll back in my head as a tide of pain whams my stomach. I clamp my mouth shut, refusing to call out. My brother stands in the door way as I relax, the pain subsiding.

"You need to see a doctor." For a reply, I shake my head. No. I don't need a doctor. I need time. He sits beside me on the bed and looks me in the face. "You always pretend like you don't need help." I don't reply and instead close my eyes. "Jim."

"I don't need any help." I rasp. He laughs harshly,

"Yes you do. You'd still be in that basement if it weren't for me."

"I wouldn't have been down there at all if it weren't for you." I breathe, gripping the bedclothes again. He looks away.

"Do you need anything?"

"Water would be marvelous." I reply smoothly. He sighs and gets up, heading for the door. "Don't!" I call and he turns back, confused. "Just wait until I slip away okay? I don't… I don't want to be in here alone." He furrows his brow as he takes a seat next to me on the bed again.

"What are you scared of Jim?" I can feel myself slipping away, the darkness seeping in from the edges of my vision. I don't want to see the dreams again, I'm not scared of them, just uncomfortable.

"Scared?" My voice is shaky. Oh God. Here they come again.

"Yes. What are you scared of. Look at you, you're shaking."

"I'm scared of myself." And I slip away on a boat, rocking to and fro on a river of blood.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: So I know this is short, but I didn't really have anything today, but I would feel like a bad person if I didn't put anything. Bear with me. Probably will put another one up tomorrow, but I will be gone all of this week starting on Tuesday. I don't get back until later Saturday afternoon, so I may or may not have something up by then. Don't forget to review and tell me what you think. Reviews are love. And I give cyber hugs to everyone who reviews. :)<em>

_Mischief Managed_

_-P_


	6. Hello, IT Part 1

_March 25_

I prop my feet on the desk and lean back in my chair, fiddling around on my laptop. The white walls of the basement make the room seem larger and colder than it really is. The phone on the desk rings unexpectedly, causing me to jump. I remove my feet from the desk and grab the phone,

"Hello, IT." A woman's voice comes from the other end of the line.

"Um yes, Hello. My computer seems to be having troubles…"

"What operating system is it?" I ask, knowing it's going to be

"Um, Windows I think." I offer the empty room a fake smile,

"Have you tried turning it off and on again?"

"Um… No…" I roll my eyes,

"Give that a try and if that doesn't work, give me another call and I'll try to see what's wrong with it."

"Thank you!" I smile.

"No problem." I lean back in my chair again. This has got to be one of the most boring jobs in my entire life. 'Hello IT. Have you tried turning it off and on again? Oh? Are you sure it's plugged in? That might be the problem then.' Tch. People are so dull, and stupid. Why can't they figure out their own problems. Most of the computers run on Windows. Any problem with Windows can be fixed by restarting it. Now if it was Vista… That would be another problem all together and I would just have to quit right then and there.

The only reason I applied for this job is because of Molly Hooper. I can make her a pawn and use her to introduce myself to Sherlock. And then I'll use Sherlock, and… Well. I haven't really gotten there yet. I have put a lot into this job though. Quite a bit. Possibly too much, and I am putting myself in firing range if I'm not good enough. If I can't convince him that I'm harmless. That's why I've gone with being gay. It's easier to be charming and harmless when you're pretending that you're gay.

I lean back in my chair again, just as the phone rings.

"Hello, IT."

"Yes, I called earlier."

"I see. What appears to be the problem?"

"Well… It wasn't on when I called you, and I can't turn it on." I let out a silent sigh of exasperation.

"Are you sure it's plugged in?" There is a huff on the other end of the line as the woman bends down to check her cords,

"I'm not a complete fool, of course the- Um… No." I blink for a long second,

"Yup. That- uh. That might be the problem." She doesn't say anything and just hangs up. The IT crowd are treated like shit. I rub my face. Stupid night shift. I lean back in my chair and pull my laptop onto my thighs. March 25th. Oh look. Molly's updated her blog again. I scroll down to read,

'_Sorry, I've been really busy recently. Work is the same old. Caroline's left. Which we're all quite happy about because we were sick of hearing about that flipping hedge._

_Toby's still brilliant. He sleeps on my bed now which is really nice. Toasty!_

_Oh, and Sherlock came in again tonight. And he was his usual arrogant self! And he was blatantly flirting with me and I know he's doing it and I should tell him to stop but I don't! And, of course, he was only doing it so I'd help him with something. As soon as he got what he wanted, he was off.'_

I smile. So like Sherlock. And that just proves my theory that Molly is useable. Very useable. Oh, and there's more,

'_OMG! I nearly just wrote 'At least Toby will never leave me'. I am becoming a Mad Spinster!'_

And the first comment on this post is from Molly herself. This is shaping up nicely. I don't even have to do any planning. At least not much. Molly says,

'_Oh! How can I delete this? I meant to say 'you-know-who' not his name! _

_Don't read this! Nobody read this!'_

I smile. This shall be very easy. I've been handed a window of opportunity and I shall take it. I am from IT so that is one way in. I quickly type a comment. 'Hi, sorry, are you the lady who works in the morgue? The one with the nose?' The nose. Hah. That will get her. To be honest, it's not a bad looking nose.

'_Who are you?'_

And now, now I can weasel my way in. 'Sorry! I work in the IT dept. Stupid night shift.' She doesn't post anything for the next few minutes. Hm. 'Are you alright? You've gone quiet…' Maybe that's what'll bring her back. I need this to work. She doesn't say anything for several more minutes and then finally,

'_Sorry. I'm just feeling a bit silly. I didn't know anyone read my blog. _

_What's wrong with my nose?'_

Molly, you gullible thing. You poor thing. 'Nothing. It's a cute nose. I hope you don't mind me saying. I'm here all night so I'll need more coffee.' And here enters the part of the plan where I have a coffee with her in the canteen.

'_Okay'_

It sounds awkward, even over the internet. 'Do you like coffee?' I suppose I have to coax her out. Point one for Molly, zero for me. Note, don't be so….. I guess she would call it creepy.

'_Yes'_

Now she's being difficult. Shit. 'Do you want to meet for coffee? In the canteen?' Straight forward.

'_Erm... okay. 5 minutes?'_

Good. 'See you there!' I close my laptop and check the phone. It doesn't look like anyone will be phoning for assistance soon. At least I hope not. I rub my eyes with my fingertips and straighten my t-shirt out. I push the chair back and exit the basement, casually walking up the stairs. I'll meet her in the canteen, strike up a conversation, weasel my way into her life, and then? Well then something will happen. I just make it up as I go along. And It's good that way.

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: Will be away a while. This will hopefully be continued, because I want to do another part where he actually MEETS Molly in the canteen. In case you were wondering, or you haven't read the blogs, those excerpts in italics and Jim's response are from Molly's blog as kept by the BBC. You can find a link on Sherlock's BBC homepage and take a look. Go. Have fun. And when I get back, expect more.<em>

_Mischief Managed_

_-P_


	7. Bad Day

I throw my arm over Sebastian's shoulder, "I bloody _love_ you mate! You're like, my best friend! You know that right? God! I feel great!" Sebastian doesn't say anything but lets out a sigh instead. What the hell is wrong with him? Everything is awesome and he's just blowing it off like it's nothing. "Hey, hey Sebastian! What's wrong?"

"Nothing, sir." He wraps an arm around me and hauls me off my stool. My head hits his shoulder,

"You're always so damn grim! I mean, isn't what I do a lot of fun?" Sebastian walks me out the door of the bar.

"You smell." I giggle.

"You always smell Sebastian. I just never tell you." I stumble, my feet point at each other. I can barely see, but somehow, it's okay. I feel fantastic. My skin tingles and I am just happy. Which is new for me. It feels good. Sebastian sighs again. And suddenly the good feeling is gone. "Oh God." A fake smile crosses his face and he pushes me against the wall.

"I knew it." Bile piles up at the back of my throat and I throw up all over the wall, heaving more. And the heavy feeling on my brain isn't a good feeling anymore. I groan.

"How much did I drink?"

"A lot."

"Good God. Why do you let me out Seb?"

"You kind of ordered it, sir." I sigh.

"Come on Seb. Help me." I hold my arm out for him, and he wraps it around his shoulder and hauls me off the wall.

"Are you going to puke in my car?"

"No." I'm not entirely sure about that though. I still feel sick. "I'm going to feel awful tomorrow. I should have stopped drinking."

"You were having a bad day sir." He carefully puts me in the back of the car.

"How many times have I told you to call me by my name?" Sebastian doesn't say anything. I relax against the back of the car. "A lot Sebastian. Quite a lot."

"Are we going home then?" I simply nod, not trusting myself to speak. The troubles of the day are seeping back, no longer blocked out by alcohol. I no longer feel good, no longer feel happy. Only sick and pissed.

"Just get me home Sebastian."

"Yes…Jim." He hazards. I smile softly, finally.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Fresh from camp! Here you are! Hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are love!<em>

_Mischief Managed_

_-P_


	8. Explicit

**_Author's note: In this ONE ficlet, there is severe language. Explicit. Most of the time I don't swear a lot but this is more of an angsty fic so it would feel wrong to NOT use strong language. If you feel like it'd be offensive, you can skip over this one considering there isn't anything too important in it. That is all! Thank you and have a nice day. And if you choose to read it, enjoy!_**

**_Mischief Managed_**

**_-P_**

* * *

><p><em>Age: 18<em>

"Holy shit." First words to leave my mouth as I look down at what I've done. "Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!" More words without meaning. More surprise and shock. How the hell am I going to talk myself out of this one? "Shit, damn, fuck." I don't regret doing it, but I'm scared for what will happen because of it. "For the love of God." I kneel down next to my brother and gently take his pulse, letting out a sigh of relief. If I was going to kill my brother, I would be much, much more creative.

_One hour earlier_

Anger. He did it. My own fucking brother did it. He tossed me aside like a piece of worthless shit and then tried to pick me up like he cared. Not that it matters too much, but for what? He decides to be a good guy for a woman? A dead one? That's low. Even for us. And it's not hurt. Because I don't hurt, it's anger that he thinks that he can do that. That he can violate everything I've ever worked for and then try to get it back. Not even try, just do. What kind of bastard does he think he is? I throw the chair against the wall and he comes running in.

"Jim- What the hell?" And suddenly I'm at his throat, I'm in his face.

"Fucking BITCH! Do you know what you've done! You've ruined everything! _EVERYTHING _I have ever worked for! You've ruined it and you expect me to be happy! What the hell are you ON?" At first he looks confused but then he grabs my collar and shoves me against the wall.

"You little bastard. Where is she?" He asks and I just smile.

"You shouldn't have done that!" I push him off of me, moving from victim to predator in a matter of seconds. "You've fucking crossed a line now."

"For God's sake! I'm your older brother!" He protests, seeing the glint in my eye. Fear is settling around his shoulders like a blanket and he backs into the kitchen.

"And I'm the genius! No one fucking crosses me, _brother_." I spit the last word. It tastes wrong on my tongue. I don't have family. I don't have anyone that can cross me. The funny thing is, I should have seen this coming. Anyone can betray you. And they always will.

"Jim! Calm down!" I laugh loudly as he bumps against the countertop. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He shouts at me.

"_ME_? What's wrong with me? Don't insult yourself. What the hell is wrong with _you_?" I push him against the counter, hard. He doesn't say anything but I can tell it hurt. "What gave you the right? I don't understand you! I just don't get you! The ONE person I trust in the whole world, and I discover that no one can be trusted? Is this what mother would have wanted?"

"You're a freak!" He says with awe, and that stops me for a second. I am a freak aren't I? "You're a fuck up!"

"Shut the hell up! I am a fuck up! But if I'm a fuck up, so are you!" He shoves me and I stumble backward, trying to keep my balance on the slick floor.

"You're the biggest fuck up I have ever seen! Are you going to kill me James?"

"No." My tone is low and dangerous. "But I can come pretty close. Is that a dare then?" He says nothing but continues to advance on me. I'm pushed against the backdoor, the one with all the windows and there he his, towering over me, as if he's the one that should be upset.

"What the fuck are you on about James." He puts his hands on my shoulders, and I know what he's going to do. He shoves me, he shoves me through the glass and onto the pavement. Without a second thought I stand up, not caring about the cuts in my clothes and my skin, or the glass in my hair. I push him as hard as I can and take off down the street, not looking back.

When I come home, I go through the front door. My back is throbbing, and I'm bloodstained. The only reason I came back at all is because I don't want to get arrested. There's a foot at the end of the hallway, it's my brother's.

"Holy shit." First words to leave my mouth as I look down at what I've done. "Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!" More words without meaning. More surprise and shock. How the hell am I going to talk myself out of this one? "Shit, damn, fuck." I don't regret doing it, but I'm scared for what will happen because of it. "For the love of God." I kneel down next to my brother and gently take his pulse, letting out a sigh of relief. If I was going to kill my brother, I would be much, much more creative. "Fuck." I reach into my pocket. He's hit his head against the counter. How long has he been lying here? I'll be charged for man slaughter if he dies. I glance down at him as I call in. He's passed out. There's blood on the floor, but he could still live. "Yeah, I need an ambulance." I give them my address and get instructions on how to keep him alive until they get here. I take a picture after that. I'll need to remember this. Remember this feeling I had. A proper deep anger in the pit of my stomach that fueled my rage. I'll need it later in life.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: Sorry. I just got this wonderful email from this wonderful person that seriously made my entire day. Thank you 'the REAL Sherlock Holmes' for making me sit there with my phone in front of me grinning like an idiot until my mother asked me what was wrong. I just thought that I should say thank you considering you're not on an account. Much thanks and love!<em>

_Mischief Managed_

_-P_


	9. Observation

"Good morning." My eyes fly open and I sit up quickly.

"Sebastian, get the hell out of my room." He doesn't say anything but hands me a cup of tea instead. "Sebastian." My voice is dangerous. What the hell is he thinking? This is my sanctuary. I glance down at the cup of hot tea in my hands and look back up at him, just standing there. In one fluid motion I flick the cup at his face. "I said," My volume increases, "Get OUT." He shrieks as the near boiling liquid hits his face and stumbles out of my room.

A normal person would have just said it twice. I hate to repeat myself. "AND SHUT THE DOOR!" I scream after him. The door closes with a snap. I flop back onto my pillow and stare at the ceiling. Who cares about normal? I was never normal. I never fit in. I can't believe that it took me twelve pathetic years of my existence to figure something so simple out. Normal children didn't bring home dead birds, normal children didn't threaten to kill everyone, normal children didn't sit alone and watch every other child play and observe every little detail about them. That wasn't normal. My brother hadn't said anything until I was twelve. He told me that I was scaring the other children, that they wanted to send me to counseling. That was the first time I _really _lost my temper. I'd thrown fits and gotten into fights before sure, but that was the first time what anyone said to me actually made me angry. That was Carl Powers.

I shift on the bed and kick my mug over the edge, listening to it shatter on the floor. I put my hands behind my head and let out a sigh. So sentimental.

I regret nothing. That's probably why I still smile when I remember little Carl. That was my first real gig. My first accomplishment. And then I knew I wasn't normal. I knew just how to kill him and not get caught. I knew everything I needed to. Of course, as a kid the crime shows were my favourite thing to watch, but I always knew who had done it and why, so that kind of took the fun out of it. To be honest, the give fantastic ideas though. Ideas that I can use and make better. I'm more than human you see. Better. I'm a hybrid. I can see more than anyone, and I can think faster than anyone.

I thought I was the only one.

Well.

That was before Sherlock.

I sigh and throw my sheets of as I sit up. I rub my face. It's going to be a big day. I have to go into the night shift tonight, Molly is expecting me, and Sherlock obviously is going to be there. Molly even told me. That little girl is shaping up to be a great tool, but if I have to sit through another nauseating episode of Glee, I might just shoot her. Personally.

That's an honour you know. I hate getting my hands dirty. I only allow myself to execute plans when it's personal. Like Carl Powers. That was personal. And I was only twelve, it's not like I had a gang, or Sebastian. No, he didn't come until much later. But even if I did…. I would still have done it myself.

And after that I disappeared. My brother worked out what I had done, and being the good brother he is, he convinced mum to move. Bringing us here actually. London became my base. Ireland might be my native country, but London is my operative.

I don't know why my brother never turned me in. Maybe it's because we're related. Personally, I would have turned me in, had I witnessed it rather than me, only because I would see myself as a threat. Which is perfectly logical. And even after that he stayed with me. He threated to leave so many times, and he never did. I never cared if he left or not. It wasn't my concern. I shake my head.

What's wrong with me today? I feel like I'm missing something. I wrap my robe around me and pad down the hall, looking for Sebastian.

"Hey! Sebastian!" He should know. And suddenly he's in the door frame. He looks at me in loathing.

"What?"

"What's today?"

"Today?"

"Yes!" I roll my eyes, "What's happening today?"

"You have that thing in Sussex…" His voice trails off.

"I know that! I feel like… There is something today that…" I shrug my shoulders in defeat. I don't really care at this point. "You know what? Never mind. It's not important." I spin on my heel and return to my room, closing the door behind me. I open my curtains and throw myself onto my bed again, placing my chin in my hands.

When I first realized that I was different, I tried to come up with a time period of how _long_ I had been different. That plan failed and I came to realize that I had always been a bit different. My brother always said I was off, but, I happen to be perfectly sane. I feel that I'm the only _real_ person. No one has any substance anymore. It's always the same thing with people. A little diversity please!

That's what drew me to Sebastian I suppose. He was different. Not a lot, I mean he brought me tea this morning for Christ's sake, but different enough to attract my attention. It had started in a church if I remember correctly.

I always remember.

It had started in a church.

Oh I used to be a "good" boy. I went to church every Sunday. I pinched little things most Sunday's, and the only reason I was really there was because of my brother. Anyway, Sebastian had started pinching too, and the first time I saw him was when he stole my hiding spot. From that moment on he was mine. At first he protested, and then he grew to admire me. I saw it in his eyes, the admiration. And I gained a partner. And suddenly, everything I had planned, everything I ever wanted to do took shape. I had a way now.

That was years ago. And Sebastian is still by my side.

At one point I started to think that maybe no one would leave. That's wrong though. Everyone always leaves. Even if they say they won't.

That's the thing about people. They are so predictable, and they always lie. Even if they don't mean to, they do. Not me. I make it a point to be completely honest…

Except when I'm not. Like with Molly. Although I suppose that I'm _mostly_ truthful.

After meeting up with Sebastian, my reputation started to go around, and suddenly people were asking me to do things for them, to help them with their little mundane problems. At first it wasn't anything special, small, out of the law, things. Theft, drug dealing, that kind of thing. And then there was a murder. Sebastian did the first on job murder for me. With each job, we got a souvenir.

My first souvenir was Carl's shoes. The day after I had my epiphany, I took his shoes and watched him die. That was the first day I saw Sherlock as well. I stuck around for the aftermath. I would be a complete fool if I didn't. Carl's mother was the best sight of all of them. Wailing and crying, wanting her little boy. At twelve it was a good feeling. A smug sort of happiness in my heart that made me want to make someone hurt again. Just for the fun of it.

And then money became an issue and well, things just went from there.

Consulting criminal.

I let out a sigh of air and roll over onto my back, glancing out the window. There isn't much of a view of course. I have to be secluded or Sherlock would have found me already. And what a pity that would be. Watching him scurry about to try and clean up after is a show indeed. It's nearly as good as committing the crimes and let others take the fall. Almost. His pet John is the kicker though. So much more _human _than Sherlock or I. We're two of a kind really. And he'd be where I am at now, had the circumstances been different. Imagine everything we could do together. Oh, we could own the world without the world knowing it. I lick my lips and sit up. I suppose I better get ready.

The door to my room flies open and I glare at Sebastian as he stands there. He's carrying a tea tray, fresh this time, and what looks like a piece of toast.

"Happy birthday." He says before putting the tray on top of my dresser and closing the door quickly behind him.

Oh. That was what today is. I've managed to live another three hundred and sixty five days. Wonderful.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: This was a prompt from 'the REAL Sherlock Holmes' and so... Winning. Challenge completed!<em>

_Mischief Managed_

_-P_


	10. Being Bored

Boredom. I hate the word, I hate the state of being. Granted, I hate a lot of things. But there's one thing I hate more than being bored. And that's being bored of being bored.

I have things I need to do today, but I'm so bored that I don't want to do anything. I roll my eyes and lean back in my chair, glancing toward the door. Sebastian is no doubt going to come and find me soon to tell me what I have to do. He's too thorough. He's not the only one with things to do. I have things to do to… Oh well. I don't want to do anything. But I'm so bored…. I stand up and throw the door open. I'm going. I'm going to the bar down the street. That will be something won't it?

I pull up a seat and order a drink, listening to the conversations around me. Dull. Boring. Predictable. Discussing who they are indeed. No one knows who I am of course. That would be bad. I smile and finish my drink.

I'm.

Just.

So.

Bored!

I can't take it anymore! I kick my stool and slam the door behind me as I storm out. Why does everything have to be so infuriatingly boring? I'll try anything to be rid of this feeling of boredom. Anything. I shuffle down the street, scanning the sides, looking for something, anything to do other than what I'm supposed to. I'm so bored of being bored. I need some attention… And I feel ignored. That's a new feeling for me. I've never needed attention in my entire life before. But.

I'm just so BORED. There! At the end of the street. A big Polish bloke. Oh he looks mean. Maybe he'll knock me about if I mouth off to him a bit… That's better than being bored isn't it? And who knows, being tossed around a bit might make me feel better. I allow a sly smile to grace my lips as I walk up to him, a thousand insults piling up at the back of my mouth. He glances down at me and I immediately flip him off. The response is instantaneous.

And suddenly I'm on my back, a huge grin on my face, and a throbbing pain pulsating through my body. The man stands over me, landing blows whenever he could. And then he tripped over my legs and I was on top of him. Oh it feels so good to hear bones cracking and see blood, even if some of it is my own bones and my own blood. Well. I turn and walk away, smiling. I glance over my shoulder as he gets back up and goes the opposite direction. That did feel good. But I'm bored again. I dust myself off and lean against the wall, pulling out a cigarette. I don't even smoke it halfway before throwing it my silhouette in disgust. Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored.

B.

O.

R.

E.

D.

I sigh again. When did life get so dull? I suppose I should call it a day, unless I can think of something else to do. I don't feel like working today, I don't feel like doing anything. But that's why I'm just so damn bored! For Christ's sake! I kick at the wall. I need help I think.

BORED.

I don't have anything I can do today unless…. Oh. Wait. There is that… I could do that. It would piss Sherlock off surely, but it'd make him dance. I love to watch him dance. That's better than being bored isn't it? Of course it is, don't be silly. I do so enjoy setting these things up. It takes skill, skills that I have.

Oh. I'm not bored now.

Isn't it good?

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: I was listening to this song by 'The Films' entitled 'Being Bored' and I just saw it as a very Jim thing. And a very Sherlock thing for that matter, but considering Jim is my favourite, and I was sitting down, staring, getting up and walking away for about an hour I decided I should probably just do this. <em>

_Mischief Managed_

_-P_


	11. Change in Plans

_How did I get here? I don't even remember. I blink my eyes heavily and quickly glance around, noticing the chair I'm tied to. Ah. I know what this is. I smile. To be honest, I have expected this for a long time. _

"_Sherlock?" I call loudly, in a sing-song voice. Oh yes. It was him. It has to be. So cliché that I'm kind of disappointed. Not that it bothers me too much, but the thought that he'd stoop so low… A door opens across from me, shedding fluorescent light across my face. My clench my eyes shut and draw back from the sudden brightness while I try to adjust. I ease my eyes open, and he's standing there in the doorframe. I smile again. So it has come down to this has it? Interesting. I would have expected more from Sherlock Holmes. _

"_Jim." His voice is low and husky. Oh. The poor thing. My smile widens. I remember now. Vaguely anyway. It has something to do with John's untimely death. Of course I planned it. Why else would Sherlock be so upset about it? He's really a child deep down. People don't matter. I wonder why he ever thought they did._

"_Oh, sorry dear. Is this about John?" I ask happily enjoying his anger. I can feel it rolling off of him in waves. Oh, it feels fantastic that I caused that. And it isn't just anger, it's hurt. That's the best kind of anger. _

"_You know Jim." He steps into the room. I think he wants me to be scared. _

"_You really are a very interesting person. But Sherlock, listen, you're doing this wrong. If you want to make this count you have to do it right." He doesn't say anything, but stares me in the face instead, bending down onto his knees so our eyes are level. He studies me for a moment. Oh Sherlock, you poor pathetic boy. You're my masterpiece. It's sad that you don't realize how I've done this. I've turned you. I've turned you into me. _

"_How, Jim? How can you live with yourself?"_

"_Done what? Please be specific, you know I do so much in my life it gets kind of redundant." _

"_You've burned me. Are you happy now?" I chuckle. Predictable. Sherlock, please._

"_OF course NOT. I won't be happy until you stab me. I know you have the knife I used. I know you do. I can see it Sherlock. I'm just like you. Only I'm better." This is part of the plan. And now I'm scared. I know I'm going to die. That was always the plan, but…. I never thought that I'd not want to leave. This world is so… empty. I have to act just to make it fun. And now I have to leave. What's after that? I even have to act up until the moment I die. "The question, Sherlock," I lean forward and whisper to his face, "Is this, how can you live with yourself? I manage just fine. Because you see Sherlock, I don't have a heart." _

"_You have to…"_

"_Oh no. I assure. I'm not even worried about dying Sherlock. It was part of the plan." _

"_Wha-?" Oh how quaint._

"_I've confused you now haven't I? Let me put it simply… John, well…. John had to die. And so did Mycroft, and Molly, and your mother. And Mrs. Hudson, and Mike, and Detective Inspector Lestrade. And Sally and Anderson. You left me a trail to follow you know. At first it was easy, the less important people were easy to take you, but then things got personal, and I had to make my own moves. I didn't want to Sherlock. I really didn't, but you were just so difficult. You won't come and play. And so I had to bring the game to you. I even gave you a choice Sherlock." I frown, pushing my fear down as I always do. "I was very disappointed to be proved right. You have a heart."_

"_I.." Sherlock closes his eyes. Oh he's been upset, crying I would say. Quaint. _

"_Are you cross at me for killing John? For killing everyone else?"_

"_Obviously." He stands up and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and pulling the knife from his coat pocket. I knew it. _

"_Are you going to be happy Sherlock?" I ask. He bends down to face me, he blinks and rams the blade into my stomach. I bite my lip against the pain. I can taste blood. He steadies himself on his knees. I smile and spit blood on his face._

"_Welcome Sherlock. Welcome." Sherlock backs up, taking the knife with him and my head drops to my chest, but not before I see his look of surprise. My work is finished._

I sit up in my bed clutching my belly, smile still on my face. My sheets are soaked. And now I know.

"SEBASTIAN!" I scream. I'm scared to die. I can't let it end like that. So undignified. I need to change some plans. Something more spontaneous. Anything less than spectacular is ordinary. Anything less than extraordinary is boring. The door opens and Sebastian enters my room.

"Are you okay?"

"We need to make some changes." He nods and leaves. Yes. Make the changes fast. That's way too much work to burn Sherlock. I can burn him in one blow. Much easier that way. Less dirt, less cleanup. More fun. Ah yes. Not bored now. "Sebastian? What time is it?" I ask as I enter the study.

"Two in the morning." I smile. Perfect.


	12. Wonderland

_Author's Note: Stealing this prompt off of inkface because, you my friend, gave me a FANTASTIC prompt. It probably isn't what you were thinking when you gave it to me, but hey. I can do what I want. It helped with the whole 'I'm having mood and life issues right now' thing that I've been going through, so I thank you deeply for that! AND MOVING RIGHT ALONG! Enjoy!_

_Mischief Managed_

_-P_

* * *

><p>What if I were to do nothing? I ask myself as I roll my sleeves up. What if I just, didn't do anything, if I let myself stagnate, if I just sat down? What would happen if I just let go?<p>

And I pause.

Nothing would happen. I'd hate it. I'd probably end up killing myself if I just stopped. No no no. I can't do that. That would be silly. I wrap the makeshift belt around my upper arm and position my needle. Anything to not be bored. DMT. Dimethyltryptamine. In my opinion, best drug on the market. I glance at my skin before pressing the needle into the crevice and injecting myself with the clear liquid. I tilt my head back and rest it against the wall as I feel it race through my veins. I discard the needle and lean against the wall, repositioning myself on my bed and staring at the ceiling as it starts to take effect.

_And the drug starts to take effect…_

I'm falling. Oh sweet Jesus, I'm falling. It's dark, I can't see, but I'm not scared. Is that normal? To not be scared when you're falling. And I'm falling slowly, how is that? Is it a hole at all? What is that, marmalade? Interesting. I reach to pluck the jar off the shelf but miss, and it tumbles through the void faster than I. Interesting.

How long have I been falling. I've been falling quite a while I should think.

Is that the-?

I hit the ground softly, like I had fallen down the stairs rather than a huge chasm. How did I-? I stand up and look about. I can see now, there's lights, a ceiling fan actually, and several lamps. Thousands of doors surround me. Most of them are locked. I try one of them, a red one, and the door swings open silently. I can see inside… Inside is… Well that's a bit odd. That's old news. My goldfish, Hugo. Well technically he was _our_ goldfish, my roommate and I… I wave to Hugo, and he seems to smile, waving a fin at me.

"Bye Hugo!" I say, with a bit of sentiment as I close the door. Poor Hugo. I try another door, a normal looking one this time, no absurd colours. This one is locked. And so is the blue one. The magenta door, however, lets me leave this dismal room and into a place of psychedelic patterns. It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust.

Sherlock stands at the exit for this room, he's holding a gun, but it isn't pointed at me, or at anything in particular. He holds it out to me.

"Take it." I frown and make my way across the room, my footsteps echo. I take the gun and raise an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"You'll need it." He blows smoke in my face and disappears without a trace. I frown.

"Cryptic." I murmur before twisting the doorknob. The heat hits me before I have even opened the door all the way, and suddenly I feel as if the room has gone down in size, and I have grown larger. I can't reach the door, because it's at the end of my foot. The room is so hot, it's red. I can't move the hand holding the gun and I think back to what Sherlock said. "What did he mean I'd need it?" I wonder aloud, as I try to shift and get more comfortable in the tiny room. I manage to nudge the door open, a tiny bit, and suddenly I'm freezing and the room seems much too large. I race to the opposite wall, and leave the red room behind, entering a garden of sorts.

Well, I say garden.

When you're nine inches high, the grass then becomes a garden.

And so do mushrooms.

John sits atop a mushroom, skull in hand and he glares at me. I look at him, and he just stares at me before tossing Yorik to me.

On instinct, I catch.

He frowns and says, "Are you going to shoot me Jim?" I look at the gun and then back up to him, cocking my head to the side.

"Perhaps. But not with a gun. I want to make you suffer John Watson, I want to make Sherlock suffer. It's more fun that way." I make to give him the gun, but he shakes his head.

"You'll need it." And he slowly disappears. "Oh, and Jim, take the left road. The right one will only bring you misery." I stand at crossroads now. Left. Right. Forward. The dirt paths aren't much different from each other. What had John's voice said? Take the left? I spin on my heel and examine both the left and the right. He had said nothing about the middle path.

What is down the middle path? I wonder. I take a step forward.

And another one.

And soon I'm trotting down the road. The middle one of course. Not the left, not the right, the middle path.

And there's nothing there. I stick the gun in the back of my waistband and plod on.

The world shifts, it spins it dances. And Sherlock stands in front of me again. He holds his hand out.

"You're late." I frown and stare at his hand.

"What?"

"You're late. Give me the gun. It's too late. You didn't take the left path. Had you, you'd be you're normal height, and you'd probably be home."

My frown deepens and I hand over the gun. He smiles at me, an odd sight, and grabs my arm.

"Come on." He grabs my arm and drags me down the path. "You need to get home."

"Home?" There is a hole above our heads now and he grabs my waist, and tosses me, nearly effortlessly, upward. And I look up and the light comes closer and closer. And I close my eyes, and when I open them, the world spins and my room is back and it stares at me like John did, and then… Nothing.

_Author's Note: Dear Gatiss, I'm a terrible person. This has taken FOREVER to write, not because I wasn't inspired, but I had emotional issues, school issues, and just… I'm on Tumblr and role-playing all the time now, and… Well things have gotten a bit crazy. Anyway, please forgive me. PLEASE! I LOVE YOU STILL! I'll try and put something up every Saturday. Maybe. I'll try. _

_Much love._

_Until Gallifrey is free, I am yours,_

_Time Lord Victorious _


	13. Professor M

_Age: 23_

Something goes wrong. Something always goes wrong when he's involved. I hadn't expected this. I really hadn't. Okay, maybe I had, maybe I had that inkling of a notion that this could happen, and then I brushed it aside as nearly impossible.

I thought I had planned for everything.

The dark warm liquid seeps through my hands and he stares at me with an expression of pity. I think he's trying to make me feel bad. I smirk, it's going to take more than that. He frowns at me slightly, and pain seems to enter his entire being. He flinches and looks at me in disgust.

"What?" I ask in an annoyed tone. What the hell could he possibly say to me now? At a time like this?

"Jim." That's it. That's all he says. His voice is weak and I can barely hear.

"What?" I ask again, my voice rising.

"I hurt Jimmy." I roll my eyes. Only a fool wouldn't. Or a nerveless person, but that's another story. "Jim." There is a small pause. He stares into my eyes. "James." I stop cold. It must be important. No one calls me James. Anyone that does is looking for the same punishment I gave father all those years ago. I punished him. I punished him good. He knows better. Why, then, would he risk his dying moment to get my attention?

"Brother?" He motions me to lean closer and I oblige, steadying myself with each hand on the ground, one across him, and one next to me.

"James." Again with that damn name. It must be important. Very important. "You knew didn't you. You knew about the risk." He isn't asking. I just nod. "Why didn't you say anything?" I look at him and smile.

"I didn't need you anymore." He chuckles at that.

"Sure you don't James. And you know what? I don't need you anymore either." He shudders and tries to sit up. He glares at me as if asking me to help him. It's the least I can do. "Help me James." He whispers, "I have something to tell you." Numbly, I help him up.

"What?" This is the third time I've asked. It's more of a quiet question rather than a comment this time though. He shudders again, swallowing and wetting his lips.

"You…" He stops, searching for the words to fill the things he needs to say. He's slipping. "I promised I'd only say something on my deathbed. That way you couldn't be mad at me." He chuckles again, blood pooling on the cement under us. I glare at him.

"What the hell are you on about?" I say. He simply grins.

"You remember that time- Oh of course you do. You remember everything. You remember the job we had a while back. Right after you met the Sebastian fellow. If I recall you hadn't yet hired him, you'd just met him, you'd just started thinking about using him." He pauses again, as if to get back on track. I remember it well. "You remember the fire?" Ah, the fire. That was a good one. Good job, good way to dispose of traitors. That was when- "You nearly got caught that day." I smile, as I said, good way to dispose of traitors. There is no room in my superiority for someone to constantly try and ruin my plans.

"Cowards burn. Yes. I taught you that." He smiles. "No one made it out alive." He laughs loudly at that, blood falls from his lips.

"No survivors eh?" He starts laughing again. There hadn't been… I checked. Or, I did a thorough check as could. Obviously I didn't count bodies, but…. "One did James. One escaped. I watched him do it. Funnily enough it was the traitor who found his way out. You missed something Jimmy." I frown. No I hadn't.

"That building went up faster than an exploding bus." He starts to laugh again.

"You missed something. And you know what?"

"What." Four. Four and now it's just a statement.

"It was our stepbrother." I stop cold. That is nearly impossible. But then… Bastard father. Bastard stepmum. Bastard stepbrother that went with stepmum. It makes an odd sort of sense. "Don't worry though." I check his pulse. He's fading fast. "I got him." I blink.

"You did what?"

"I got him professor." Professor….. "James. I got him. I avenged you. Aren't you proud?" I shake my head. Professor. Professor. I remember now. "Good-bye Jimmy." He slumps on his side, falling to the floor. I roll him over and close his eyes. Standing up, I brush my hands off. I kick is dead body with a frown.

Professor. I wanted to be a professor once. I'd even gone to school for it. I'd done well. Maths professor, one of the top in the classes actually. My teacher loved me. 'Professor Jim Moriarty. I like the sound of that' he'd use to say. Leaving my brother's unmoving body I walk away, hands in pockets.

I could still be a professor couldn't I?

No.

That would be leaving too much of a mark then wouldn't it? I'd be detectable. It's bad enough I even left the record. Why did I leave the record?

Pride.

Simply, pride.

I suppose I was too proud, I didn't want to let it go.

I regret nothing then.

I'm still glad I left it, even if there is a way to track me to an extent. It's not like they can get much further after that. I've destroyed pretty much everything of substantial use. Even my brother's records have been destroyed.

Professor Moriarty. Now there is a nice ring to it.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: There. Enjoy. Most of that was written at school in my book, the bit about Professor M was a prompt that I thought would fit well, and yes Jim's brother died because of Jim. There. Busy. Leaving now. Ciao.<em>

_Mischief Managed_

_-P_


	14. Sebastian

Sebastian

The first thing I get is from an unknown number.

I need you.

-JM

Well that's simple enough. Obviously the boss wants me. Needs me even. I smile and reposition myself on the couch before quickly typing a reply.

Listening.

-S

I stand up and start to make ready, selecting a bag. The job hasn't been stated yet, but he usually has me use my favourites. Kind of him.

It'll be a bit dirty.

-JM

Thanks for the warning.

-S

I exit the front door, locking it behind myself. I toss my bag into the passenger seat. I wonder if he'll come this time. He likes to do that. My phone dings as I receive the details of the job and I smile. Easy.

That's insulting.

-S

Might as well tell him how insulted I feel. I toss my phone into the passenger seat and pull out of the driveway to make my way to the location. Anticipation eats at my chest.

What?

-JM

I wait until I reach the building across from the target's location before texting him back.

You said 1 hour.

You also said good luck.

-S

I make my way into the building and I set up. I wonder if he'll show up this time. Sometimes he likes to come watch me.

Jim.

I stare at the last received message and smile. He's trying to best his own time again. He probably expects me to show up…. Maybe… I swivel around in my chair with a sigh. I am ever so bored…. Sherlock isn't taking my game and I've got nothing better to do. I jump out of my chair and fix my hair before getting my jacket from the back of the chair and sliding down the stairs. I don't bother to lock the door behind me. It's not like I'll be gone for very long. I just want to watch. I call a cab, not bothered enough to drive myself, even if driving myself is cheaper. I can afford it. I give the cabbie an address about a block away from the building Sebastian is probably crouching in. He's got a few minutes, I'm late, as per usual, and he's probably not even worried. I smirk to myself as I mount the stairs quietly, pulling my jacket shut and buttoning one button. I lean against the doorway and observe.

It was an office building at one point, long since abandoned. That's why it's such a perfect spot. Prime even. The scene is brilliant, and I can't help but feel a little prideful. Did set it up of course. I always set it up. I'm an artist you see. I'm very good. The nearly empty room, occupied by a lone sniper, who is staring simply and accurately down his sights. Perfection. I'd take a picture but the sad truth is that it could be used as blackmail and evidence should it ever be found. I don't make a sound, I just watch, cocking my head to the side.

"Took your time sir." He says, not turning around. I smile. Ah yes. He noticed. Of course he did. "Although, you always take your time with these things don't you." I smile and enter the room.

"Have him?" I ask, standing beside him and looking out the window toward the opposite building.

"Almost." I can hear his heart beat from here. He swallows hard before putting a finger over the trigger. he looks as if he's about to take the shot but lets out a sigh and sets the gun down instead. "Do you think that you could, back up a bit. You're in the way." Oh that's right. I was practically breathing down his neck. The goosebumps on his exposed skin are evidence of that. I smile.

"Of course." Taking a step backward I watch more closely. He raises the weapon and quickly aims, lining the cross-hairs with the target. A quick pull of the trigger, and the catch of the silencer make only the sound of a whisper. Seconds later, glass shatters and screams fill the air. I grin. "Well done." I step toward the window and survey the commotion. Chaos. Perfect. It would be more perfect if things where a little bit more... Entertaining. Sebastian stands up and joins me at the window, grin on face, and gun in hand. The open window tosses his hair with the wind.

"Perfect shot. Did you see that?" He asks, like a child.

"New record. Good job." He smiles and claps me on the back. I glance down at the scene again.

"We should go." I say, gesturing to the pointing fingers of frantic men and women, the coagulation of cop cars and spectators. He nods curtly and quickly packs away his things into a smaller bag and exits †he room, expecting me to follow. I linger at the window a moment. Good god that feeling of success is intoxicating. He pauses at the door when he realizes I'm not following.

"Sir? I prick my ears up but don't turn around. I want to see the blood. From this high up it's nearly impossible to make out the different bodies, but the large circle around a fallen man is pretty easy to spot.

But no blood.

"What?" I ask after a few minutes.

"We need to go." I shake my head. No. Not finished. Never finished until I'm sure. Not sure. The ambulance seems to be having trouble. I narrow my eyes. Dead? "Sir." He's not asking. Which is why I like him. I like having a henchman that will actually think for himself, one that doesn't need to be told everything. Seb could always think for himself and this is one of those instances that makes me glad to have him.

Sure. I'm always glad to have him. He's the only friend I've got, he's the only person to listen to me, he's the only one I share things with.

Hell. He's the only one that knows anything about my insides at all.

"I can't be sure yet. And don't call me sir." Maybe it came out a bit harsh. But I didn't mean it to. I've been telling him, it doesn't feel right for him to call me 'sir' and I to call him 'Seb'. I feel that him calling me 'sir' is breaking that bond of friendship I like to feel with him.

"Si- Jim?" He stopped himself. It's nice to know he's trying. He's standing behind me again.

"How do I know he's dead?" He puts his hand on the small of my back and leans over my shoulder for a view. He licks his lips before speaking.

"You know, because I'm the best sniper you've got." I smile at that. Ah. There it is. The blood. The building is surrounded and I frown.

"One of these days, making sure is going to cost me." I murmur, more to myself than him. He laughs at that and tosses his bag out the window and onto the ledge. He crawls out and holds his hands out to help me through the glass. He doesn't say anything until I'm outside, on the ground, and straightening my jacket.

"It already has." He says with a smile, and leans over the edge. "Any bright ideas?" I grin.

"Oh you know me." He chuckles. "I've got a few tricks up my sleeves." Without a thought, or even a second glance, I boost myself over the edge.

"Jim! The hell-!" He reaches out quickly, dropping his bag of toys and tricks to try and stop me. I simply laugh and let go before he can reach me.

Landing safely on the fire escape.

He looks quite stupid from this angle. Arms outstretched, pained look on his face, and a protest on his lips. He frowns. "What the-?"

"Fire escape." I explain with a smirk and he glares.

"Had me worried there." I nod my head. Predictable. In response to my near fatal jump, Seb throws his bag at me. He hoists it over his head, aims, and tosses it as hard as he can. It sails through the air and hits me. I stumble. And he laughs.

That hurt.

But I smile all the same.

He pops over the edge and joins me, pulling the bag from my arms and leaving the fire escape clear.

"I parked my car in the alley way." He says, with a bit of pride. I smile.

"You're learning. Thinking ahead. Smart." He chuckles.

"Says the genius." He unlocks his car and holds the door for me. I smile.

"What are you doing?" I realize that might be a bit vague and tack a shorter sentence to the end of it, "Tonight?" He looks at me oddly and shuts the door.

"I'm free."

"Good."

"Why?" He's confused. Awe, that is so cute. It's so cute that he's confused.

This is why I'm in charge.

I plan the things, I say what I mean, and I'm ready for it.

"Don't just simply stand there looking like a buffoon." I open the door for myself and slide inside, buckling my seat belt. The look of bewilderment on his face is seriously priceless. I smile internally to myself as he gets in. He starts the car.

"Is something funny?" He asks a bit roughly. I nod, but shake my head halfway through when it looks like he's going to smack me.

"I did say it would be dirty right?"


	15. Payment Part 1

_Jim_

John Watson's sense of security ended the day I first snatched him. After everyone returned home safely, he increased his awareness and upped his protection of Sherlock and himself. Just because he managed to make it a bit more difficult to catch him unawares doesn't mean that it's entirely impossible. I've had this set up for weeks, just waiting for a chance to use it. I had my opening, I took it. Sherlock pissed me off, I use that to my advantage. Sure I've wanted to do this for weeks, but now I have motive. Now I can hurt them both in the process.

I straighten my tie and a small smile slithers across my face. I lick my lips once and ease open the door. Somewhere discreet enough to not be recognized, but somewhere easily accessed by myself and Sherlock, should he chose to play. Sadly, he won't. I'm a bit of a whore when it comes to these things. I prefer to keep him guessing. The good doctor is tied to a chair, wrists strapped to one of the arms and legs tied to the corresponding chair legs. He's gagged, but he won't be for very long, I have a plan, you see.

It was easy enough to snatch the bugger. He tries to be careful, but it only ends up being comical. Accidently bump into him, scare his trousers off and there you have it. One doctor down, one torture session to go.

As soon as I enter the room he starts to freak out, struggling this way and that, eyes wide, heart pounding so loud, even I can hear it. I chuckle, and that sets him even more on edge. I have everything set up, but I don't want to rush it. I kneel down in front of him , look him in the face, and grin widely.

"Hello Johnny boy. Enjoying yourself?" He stills, staring at me with wide eyes. If that's the most fun he's going to be… I pull the gag out and as him again, "Enjoying yourself?"

"What do you think?" He asks in return, a voice full of spite. I chuckle.

"Oh you will be, darling boy. You will be." I stand, time to instill long overdue fear, time to make things right. I look toward the camera I have strategically placed in the upper corner of room and wave, I then gesture towards the door and smile widely. The door eases open and a tray is pushed in by one of my men. Pliers, pokers, hammers and all manner of small devices litter the top of the tray. John eyes them and closes his lips. Oh that's cute. He thinks he can handle it. Simply because he was in the army. Quaint.


	16. HeadCannon Abounds

Jim Moriarty bakes when he's stressed.

Or worried.

Or just about whenever he feels like. He doesn't mind getting covered in flour, it's better than getting his hands covered in blood which is so messy it gets on his suit. That really pisses Jim off. Jim Moriarty hadn't even really thought about why he was baking, but the urge to bake had been so astoundingly huge, he tied the apron on and didn't even question as he began to preheat the oven and gather the ingredients for his favourite cake.

And that's when the urge to listen to 'Stayin' Alive' by the Bee Gees and all the other music that he had stored away (like the Scissor Sisters and pretty much all the campy music you could dream of) washed over him so quickly that he slammed the mixing bowl down and immediately reached for his iPod. He kept small iHomes around the house for moments such as these.

Soon enough, camp 80's music was blasting through the kitchen, and Jim Moriarty sang along.

To be completely honest….

It didn't look at all threatening.

In fact, one could say that Jim Moriarty looked particularly effeminate and affectionate, and some might even say… Girly. He didn't look like you should be scared of him at all, in fact, it would make any gay man swoon.

As soon as the cake hit the oven, Jim Moriarty began to clean.

He cleaned everything. And he cleaned obsessively. It was here that it hit him, why he was baking and cleaning and listening to campy music.

He was in a good mood.

Not his usual, 'I'm going to kill you, and you're going to like it' or the ever famous 'I'm stealing this, and you'll accept it' good moods. No. This was unusual. This good mood was the kind that's infectious to everyone. Even those that don't swim in blood and guts on occasion, or steal money, just because they can. Yes. In fact, Jim Moriarty felt that he needed to SHARE this good mood with everyone. As he went to check the mail, his feelings of good will and happiness radiated off of him and he even _waved_ at his neighbor, saying in a loud, sing-song voice, "Good afternoon Mr. Brexley. Hope you're having a WONDERFUL day!" He then waved again as he entered the house with a little shiver and a sigh of happiness.

And then he realized he didn't like it.

This good mood. He didn't like it at all, but he couldn't make it go away. He picked flowers for dinner and texted Seb several smiley faces and heart. He just couldn't stop himself.

By the end of the day, he was exhausted. His good mood had worn him out so thoroughly that he didn't even make a proper dinner. He had set the table and laid the food out, waited for Sebastian and then ended up falling asleep on the couch, a miserable expression on his face.

That was how Sebastian found him…. Passed out on the couch, a frown of disappointment on his face. It was so childlike that Sebastian couldn't help but smile as he carried him to the bedroom. "Sir, I think you need to sleep off whatever it is you took today." He murmured more to himself than anyone. He laid the consulting criminal down and tucked him.

Then he went downstairs.

And had a slice of cake.


	17. Special

I don't usually wake up to warmth. But this morning I do.

The curtains are drawn, it is late. Sebastian let me stay in bed, late….

What is that SMELL? Bacon? Eggs? What is this? I turn over to look and am surprised to see a meal all laid out on my bedside table. There's a note….

_Don't kill me. It's a holiday._

_-S_

Ah…. February fourteenth, Valentine's day… Sebastian actually remembered. Sweet of him. Really…. I sit up slowly, I should get up now. I have a big day planned. I have several people for Sebastian to off this morning. Several. Just because it's a holiday doesn't mean he gets the day off. Maybe I'll take him to dinner. He'd like that. I hesitate a moment before shouting at the door in my usual tone,

"SEBASTIAN MORAN! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!" He arrives, looking a bit more flustered than usual. He turns bright red.

"Yes, sir?"

"I have a few jobs for you to do, and then we'll go to dinner tonight, alright?" His face brightened considerably as I dug around for my notebook. My usual scrawl splattered the page with a sporadic and highly ineffective mode of organization, but he could read it.

"Yes sir… Any particular way you want them killed, or do I get to pick?" I just smile, knowing exactly what he's going to pick. "Thank you sir."

It's noon by the time I leave my room, well fed, dressed, and ready. I go into work, the job I hate that I don't need. I play off my role well. Molly dumped me, I try to look sad, but an occasional sly smile slips out. I think it disturbs her. I make her coffee, she drinks it. She's lonely. She invites me around, but I decline. I do have dinner plans.

Every hour I get a new message from Sebastian with a picture of a corpse. That's my sniper. Right through the heart each time. Predictable, yet sweet. I'll let him have this.

At dinner he can't stop looking at me.

At the flat, I whisper in his ear, "Happy Valentine's Day," and his knees almost melt.

God.

What a pansy.


	18. Concerning August: An Author's Note

WELL! I won't make excuses, because I have none. Instead, I'll say this:

During summer vacation, I've written absolutely nothing. Well. Apart from a few things that don't go on websites like this. So... These things have been stagnating. So instead of making this a huge sob fest, I shall simply apologize. I am sorry for shirking, I will do better. Archive of Our Own (AO3) has captured my interest. You can reach my profile over there as well. My username is when_the_world_falls_down.  
>I was in a very 'Labyrinth' mood. Don't judge.<p>

ANYWAY. School is returning in about a week, so... I think, considering my rather appalling lack of updates during the past two months and the rather prolific writing I was producing earlier in the year, I think it is safe to say that I will be returning to you shortly. Hopefully I'll fall into the routine of school again rather quickly and will be able to use the creative part of my brain again.

ALSO! Update! I changed my username. I have no idea. Why. I started changing all the things that I'd done in the past to make the author's notes fit with the proper signature, and then I stopped. So. If you see that inconsistency, that's why.

You may all call me Prongs. My inbox is open, as always for prompts and the like. It will be wonderful seeing you all again.

_Mischief Managed_

_-P_


	19. Amateurs

Normally I get someone else to do this kind of thing for me. Boring, tedious... Repetitious. I hate going to the bank. Honestly it's one of the most pointless, ridiculous things I've done, and will ever do. But even as I stand in line, shoe tapping the floor impatiently as the woman in front of me searches her bag for an ID, and the clock makes an annoying ticking sound as it counts down the seconds, I pray for this to be over quickly. I have a meeting with a client soon, and if I don't have time to change into the proper business meeting attire... I sigh loudly so the woman will know she's causing me an annoyance.

She shoots me an apologetic look and continues to dig into her purse until she produces her ID and shoots me another look. I give her my best annoyed look, my eyebrows shoot straight up and I lean forward a bit to encourage her to finish her business and get out. She does, just not as quickly as I had hoped. She took her papers, giving me another look and disappeared, looked a bit embarrassed. As she should. It honestly doesn't need to take twenty minutes to cash a check.

From my back pocket I take the bit of paper with the information I needed to give to make a transfer to another account and step up to the counter, where the teller smiles brightly at me. Now I know why it took twenty bloody minutes for that woman to cash her check. It was what she would probably consider a handsome man. Tall, dark hair that was styled nicely, blue eyes. Unfortunately, his charms are not something I am interested in. I don't have time for that kind of ridiculousness and anyway-

He glances over my shoulder as two men walk in, followed by two more. Four in total enter the small bank. I turn, just to see what he was looking at.

Oh.

I internally roll my eyes. These men are here to rob the bank. Of course. I can tell. Probably their first big time thing. Nervous as hell, I can see them. God it's embarrassing. It only takes a moment for them to secure the front door and start pulling out weapons.

Dear god this is awful! Why?! Amateurs! Even _I_ did better on my first job.

These kids hold their guns up high, shooting at the ceiling. They cover their faces and push everyone to the floor. It's a slow day. Amateurs. Oh god. I can't even begin to describe my disappointment. The guy behind the counter presses the emergency button, and he drops to the floor with his hands up. Everyone is scared.

Except me.

Why should I be? These men hardly look like they've ever held a gun before.

I don't even sit down, or even cower. These are new jeans, I'm not getting them dirty. I simply stare, a look of utter disgust is written on my face.

Idiots.

The man who I can tell is the leader of these first timers looks at me with a clearly confused face. Everyone is looking at me. Well. Aren't I popular today?

"I said on your knees! Hands behind your head!" the guy shouts at me. His voice is loud, but not very convincing. I sigh and lean against the counter.

"You're wrong," I say quite clearly, "Clearly you've never robbed a bank before. You're going about it all wrong," normally I'd give advice, but... These idiots don't deserve it. They'll never be successful.

Everyone is stunned. Of course they are. They don't understand. I came to the bank to take care of my business, and these buffoons have interrupted me now I've got to reschedule my bank visit. I glance at the clock, and that meeting with the client.

Damn.

The man holds the gun up to my face in what he thought was a threatening manner. It wasn't. I simply stared at him expectantly. Several moments have passed before he yells at me to sit down again. My frown deepens. I hope these idiots get caught. They deserve it. God damn. I flick a bit of lint off my shoulder and glare at the man,

"You've never held that gun in your entire life have you? That's not how you hold a gun. This is the worst way to rob a bank, and you've never fired, or even trained with, guns before. You guys are a sad and sorry bunch, aren't you?" I shake my head again, "You call _that_ threatening? I'm not the least bit intimidated. These people shouldn't be either. But they're just as stupid as you, aren't they?" the guy is visibly distressed now,

"Who the hell are you?!" he exclaims, trying to make himself seem bigger.

I think, if I had a soul, it'd be breaking right now. These people are clearly inexperienced and it pains my very core. It makes me almost be ashamed to call myself a criminal. This is my competition? These idiots with women's pantyhose on their heads? I check the clock again. Sebastian will be worried now.

The leader seems to think that I'm not worth it and starts to go for the money. By now everyone seems to know and understand that this is about the worst bank robbery ever executed ever. Everyone seems to just kind of... Not know what to do. The threat of being shot is still very real, but the probability of a shot made by these inexperienced arseholes is about one to ten. I'm not worried in the least. The guy behind the counter is though. Or so it would seem. Perhaps he's simply stalling, waiting until the authorities arrive. My guess is a rather worried pet tiger of mine will come first.

This is so poorly executed I simply watch in horror as they _bag_ the money and start to make to leave. My god. These are true idiots I have before me. Inside, my stone cold heart is breaking. Jesus. These people...

The glass in the right door breaks apart as my tiger comes bursting through. His eyes assess first, and he manages to whip out his gun and take down the four useless men before his eyes find me. Almost without thinking I wrap my arms around his neck. I'd cry if I had tear ducts. Well. I have tear ducts. But I don't cry. Sebastian instantly scoops me up in his arms and holds me tight. God we're so domestic sometimes. Everyone is clapping and whistling and standing up.

"You were late..." Sebastian murmurs as I cling to him,

"I got a bit held up..." he can tell I might be traumatized for life. This is what the criminal classes comes down to. God. It's terrifying.

It's not until we're home that we actually talk about it. And the fact that everyone in that bank saw us as heroes, even if Seb did kill a few people. I'm not a hero. I'm a criminal. I'm not a hero. I don't want to be a hero. I will never want to be a hero and that's that. Sebastian understands. He doesn't want to be a hero either.

"Sebastian," I clip, "They weren't even holding the guns right,"

"I know, boss," comes the reply.

"Sebastian. I bet they didn't even plan it out all the way. It's insulting."

"I know, boss."

"Sebastian!"

"Yeah, boss?"

"I'm not a hero!"

"I know, boss, and neither am I," there is a slight pause while he considers something, "But maybe it's okay to be a hero for the moment. Better a hero than a criminal in the presence of the likes of them."

Maybe he has a point.

One exception.

I can be a hero, when the other criminals are fucking stupid. Like those guys were.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: OHMYGOD. Look! I updated! A real fic! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!<em>

_Do drop by and say hi!_

_Mischief Managed_

_-P_


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